


The Long Way Round

by LostAmongtheSheep



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bottom John, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Domestic Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Top John, Top Sherlock, true love muthafucka, very sexual non-sexual activity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:32:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1512386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostAmongtheSheep/pseuds/LostAmongtheSheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>some of these are from my Tumblr account. </p><p>I update this with the consistency of a writer without a deadline. </p><p>this has no order. I prefer angst, as you will notice. I don't even know whose fault it is that I started writing smut. </p><p>These ficlets are indulgent as fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no. 9 is about the drug house scene

_no.1_

John keeps an old, soft scarf of Sherlock's in a carved wooden box in his office. He takes it out when he needs to feel Sherlock's presence. He buries his face in the scarf; and breathes in deeply that warm, intoxicating, overwhelming imprint of Sherlock. He sometimes wraps the scarf around himself; around his neck, or tangled in his arms.

 

_no.2_

Sherlock places a hand on John's neck; and feels as his blood rushes in pulses, becoming increasingly rapid. This close to his mouth, Sherlock can hear with the most minimal of distance his breath catch and hiss sharply as Sherlock's other hand moves in deep, tender motions around John's thighs. Sherlock breathes deeply with his mouth in John's neck; moaning, soothing through John's descent into a deep, aching warmth.

 

_no.3_

John notices that Sherlock has fallen asleep on the couch. John sits down on the floor beside him, and begins lightly stroking his thigh. Sherlock is a heavy sleeper, so he does not wake up. This goes on for a while; then, Sherlock begins moaning and muttering softly in his sleep. John thinks he hears him say, "John, love you...John." When Sherlock wakes up; he feels a strange, warm tingling on his thigh. He glances over to where John is reading the paper, but John does not look up.

 

_no.4_

John comes home feeling frazzled and depressed because he had to call social services again for one of his patients. Sherlock brews him a strong cup of tea, and asks him to come sit on his lap on the couch. He wraps his arms around John, nestling his chin in John's hair. Sherlock puts his hands inside John's jumper, and massages his stomach until he melts completely in Sherlock's arms; and falls into a warm, deep sleep.

 

_no.5_

John often awakens when it's still dark outside. He wraps his arms around Sherlock's stomach, sinking his body against Sherlock's; and presses his mouth into Sherlock's back. John begins moving very slowly and tenderly against him; with eyes closed, and breath shaky. Although he is barely moving, the warmth spreads into an aching burning that seeps through every part of him. He can hear Sherlock's soft pillow-muffled moans; and feels Sherlock echoing his movements. They are nearly still, like a lake that ripples in the moonlight from a single fallen leaf; but their deeply blazing and shuddering bodies are like a sunset burning for lovers at the end of the earth.

 

_no.6_

When he thought Sherlock was dead, John kept one of Sherlock's pyjama bottoms near his bed. On one of his worse nights, he would hug them close to his face, and breathe in the smell of Sherlock so he could manage to fall asleep. Sherlock took them back after his return; but John does not let on about the sharp pains that shoot through him when he sees Sherlock wearing them.

 

_no.7_

John and Sherlock are not like an ordinary couple when it comes to their bond; because they have been through so much, together and apart. They have faced such darkness in their lives that they cannot take seriously the pettiness of daily life, and that applies to their relationship as well. They need each other, truly and deeply. They have always known this. They do not need to say it. They sometimes dance slowly and silently in the warm light of their fireplace. They hold onto each other with unwavering need, like they would die without the other man in their arms.

 

_no.8_

When Sherlock is sitting in his armchair and John's fingers brush the back of his neck it sends tingles twisting down his spine and he shivers, breath catching, at every faint brush of John's soft touch. John presses in deeper and closes his eyes as his palm fades the pressure of thought and his fingers unwind every muscle, sending heat flooding through Sherlock's body; John's breath faint upon his neck but imperceptible above the rhythmic shuddering movement of his body, leaning back into John's hands and flung forward again as John presses his fingers into the base of Sherlock's head, where the spine ends he pushes in. The fierce heat of John's soft hands melds with Sherlock's skin and leaves him burning.

 

_no.9_

I was so fucking angry when I saw you; a blind rage that again you had fallen and again I couldn't catch you. I thought I had gone mad at first, but when it became apparent that I was not the only one who could see you I felt like pinning you down once again. I wanted you to feel the full pressing weight of my body, to feel my hands grasping at your neck, to hear your strangling cry melding with mine. I wanted to feel your body underneath me, and the way you moved was like you needed to feel as much of me as you could before it all went away as harshly as it arrived. I wanted to feel your hands caress and fumble in a clumsy, frantic need. Your skin looked so cold to me, yet I had felt a fire caressing me and only then did I truly believe; only when your cold, pale skin revealed its blazing warmth and seemed to swallow up all my pain and send it to cinders, if only for a moment.

 

_no.10_

I suppose I didn't want to admit that I ever wanted to be anything besides alone. I'd been alone all my life, before you. Family doesn't count. No meaningful relationships. It was only when you came along that everything I believed about _alone_ and _protection_ began to shift into a form I could no longer recognize. You changed the way I felt; so, too, the way I thought. The way I felt about you had nothing to do with logic or science, or anything I could recognize. But you didn't really change me, did you? Because that part of me must have always been there. Because some of the people I knew began to matter, because you mattered. I was afraid; I wanted to get rid of this thing that could so easily destroy me. I fought against it. I fought you, too, though you didn't know that at the time. At some point, I gave up fighting, though I couldn't say exactly when. Maybe it was at the restaurant, when you looked at me like I had done to you the very thing I was so afraid of. Maybe it was sooner, when you begged me to stop being dead. Because I heard you.

 

_no.11_

When I look at you I can still remember the pain I felt. For so long, you made me feel and eventually I grew desperate to make it stop. To just end the pain, any way I could. Drinking didn't work, only made things worse. Nothing bloody worked, not that I was really expecting it to. So I entered with determination into a relationship, an ordinary relationship with an ordinary woman. And she did help, just a little. Just enough to stop me wanting to kill myself. I thought that everything was going to be alright. An ordinary life. Then you showed up just as I was trying to make the biggest step. You came back, and brought all the pain back with you. Typical you, thinking everything could just go back to normal. Did you really think you could be dead for that long without everything changing? Once again you had underestimated your impact in other people's lives in the most egregious of ways. I wanted to strangle you, to make you _feel_. And when you didn't fight it, I knew I would have to forgive you. To have you back in my life, vulnerable once again to the pain you never mean to make me feel.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_no.12_

You don't know what it was like for me when I was dead. Well, not really. I never told you because I knew how much I already hurt you, and I can't bear to imagine that look in your eyes making another appearance. So I will never tell you about the nights I spent in agony; my body screaming in pain from the lack of you. My John, I spent so long away from you that I thought I'd be numb forever. Numb to everything but the pain. For I did become numb, to even the most basic pleasure that used to come from chasing criminals down dark alleyways. The pleasure that had inevitably come to be associated with you. And how _intensely_ I noticed your absence. I began to wonder if I'd ever again hear you breathlessly calling my name as you raced to keep up with me. To feel your eyes on me, hastily turning away as I moved to meet your gaze. The way you smiled at me- how did I ever deserve that smile? I want to tell you the truth, that I would not have done what I did for any other reason but to keep you safe. But to say it would be to jeopardize your happiness with another. To ask too much of you. To ask you for something I don't deserve. My John, I would do anything for you. Even if it means you'll never really be my John.


	3. Chapter 3

_no.13_

You are having sex with me, in the sweet and gentle way you like but I keep commanding you to go faster. So you are thrusting faster and harder and soon, you are hitting me so hard I feel my bones vibrating and the hard smacking of your body against mine and you are whimpering and moaning and saying you can't stop, and your body is heaving into me and you are shaking so hard you can barely keep yourself from collapsing; until you finally do collapse as you are coming and I can feel you quivering and shuddering and burning heat; it is so intense it feels unbearable but it seems to go on and on, until you are still at last and softly pressing your lips to my body and saying you're sorry, but I tell you that you have nothing to be sorry for. Do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV John


	4. Chapter 4

_no.14_

Sometimes I am dreaming and I am aware of it, so I call out your name; yelling it desperately, sadly, pleadingly, angrily. You never respond. Sometimes I am chasing you and I feel your presence, I see you in corners and flashes, just out of reach or too far to ever catch up. Once I was yelling for you, and  someone I did not recognize looked over nervously and announced that he was you. I was so angry that you would play this joke, when I was so obviously not looking for another game. I need the truth, and no matter how many dreams I have I will never find it there. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV John

_no.15_

You softly trail your fingers down the side of my face, and suddenly I am embracing you; softness and warmth envelops me as I keep my mouth on yours. I force my thumb between your lips, and press into you as you moan loudly at being forced to keep your mouth open, subject to my whims. I crawl on top of you, and grunt as I pull down my only piece of clothing. I can feel the elastic waistband rubbbing against my knees as I begin moving against you, skin to skin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV Sherlock

_no.16_

"Are you my good boy?" you command, thrusting into me even harder.   

"Yes," I whimper through trembling lips.

You smirk, and slide your tongue into my mouth.                  

 


	7. Chapter 7

_no.17_

Sherlock can feel John's hot, wet breath on the back of his neck. It matches with the hard, wet smacking of John's body against his as John slams into him again and again; both of them rasping out short, desperate gasps for air as the fiery heat seems to build and build without ever relenting; speeding up in an unbearable, scorching burn that goes on and on until Sherlock hears an agonized wailing as John is convulsing and pulsating inside him; hot, wet bursts coming quickly and forcefully as Sherlock struggles and fails to breathe; while the searing, torturous heat seems to ravage every part of him. He can see only blackness as he collapses beneath John, who has already fallen in a dead weight on top of him.


	8. Chapter 8

_no.18_

Sherlock said good bye to John before he left for two years, and John got all raspy and balled his hands into fists, trying and failing to control his breathing. "Ah, fuck it," and then his mouth is clenched desperately to Sherlock's and his hands are grasping roughly in Sherlock's hair and scratching and kneading at his neck. Sherlock still had to leave that night. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV John

_no.19_

Light feather touches. All it takes for you to fall apart beneath me. I am in awe of how easily I overwhelm you; light dancing strokes on your skin, the slightest touch sending you trembling. A fragile leaf reacting to the slightest breeze.

You are not coy as you gaze up at me—no, rather it is fear clouding your eyes. Afraid of how I make you feel. I could leave you, after all; and in that moment of fear you imagine what it would be like to live the rest of your days without another single touch. _My love, I am here_ , I whisper; smiling gently as your eyes shut tight against the deceitful hope. My fingers find their way to the creasing of your brow, ghost over your eyelids. I place my mouth over yours in the most tender way I know, and whisper another promise: _we have been looking for each other all our lives. There is no way to undo what we have found._


	10. Chapter 10

_no. 20_

I draw a finger across your cheek, and whisper your name into your soft hair. These hushed breaths between us, the softly heaving chests, our eyelids fluttering closed. I want this quiet warmth to last forever. I carefully measure out these moments, save them for later. Save them for the times you grow cold. You lock yourself away, keep your distance. Frowning, muttering, too quiet for me to decipher. I sink back into my chair, I stare into the fireplace, I take deep sips of my tea. I rustle open my newspaper. You disappear from my vision. 


	11. Chapter 11

_no. 21_

Your hand presses against my back, lips parting in a hesitant smile. In the next moment, I blink. Darkness. I rub my weary eyes. Another one of those dreams, then. A deep sigh. Resigned, I stumble out of bed, and move softly toward your room. A hesitant pause at the doorway. You mutter in your sleep, shifting. I breathe out, carefully make my way to your bedside. I kneel. I listen to your soft breathing, the occasional muttering. In the outlines and shadows of the darkness, I make out the steady rising and falling of your chest. "Sherlock," I whisper, quiet enough to be overly cautious. I close my eyes, listening to the sounds of your sleeping form. My hands rest hesitantly on the edge of your mattress. I feel the slight movements every time you shift. When I hear my name, my heart lurches. No way to know what you're dreaming of. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV sherlock
> 
> about the hug in The Lying Detective

_no. 22_

when i first held you i could feel my body seeping into yours like crashing waves. you must've held me up somehow; i felt so weak.  
then, it felt like suffocation; and the burning lungs and tears i couldn't shed as i heard you break beneath me. i felt so weak; you must've been holding me because i couldn't breathe and i felt great gasping heaving inside that i couldn't allow to escape. i'm in so much pain. sometimes it's all you make me feel.


	13. Chapter 13

_no. 23_

I whisper.  
I whisper to you.  
I whisper through a closed door.  
I whisper your name.   
Sherlock.  
I whisper to you in a field when it is dark and I cannot find you and I am afraid for us both.   
Sherlock.   
It is a small breath within me. It means I need you.  
I need you, Sherlock.  
I whisper your name as I lie awake in the morning darkness of my bed. The air is dense and the faintest fragment of your name seems to ring clearly. I say it again, repeat it again, louder, louder.  
Boldly. Sherlock.   
I want to scream your name until my lungs are burning and my throat aches.   
My chest is heavy with need  
and I need to release your name again and again in the darkness into your skin  
your warm skin. It looks so cold but it must be warm, I know it must be searing hot.   
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ask me anything you want or just write a general comment and I'll respond.
> 
> you can bet your sweet little ass that it's other people's fault I started writing filth! especially from Tumblr. 
> 
> I can become a beta reader for anyone who is writing Johnlock or Phan. 
> 
> love me! love me???


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